Crazier Than A Bag Full of Ferrets
by Tribble Master
Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt. Strange stuff. Sam takes him to Bobby's house to recover. High!Hurt!Dean pesudo-carring-little-brothers-playing-tricks!Sam. But first, check your closet. Make sure there aren't any monsters and what not.


Author's Note: Do not ever take prescription pain medicine unless it's _really _bad. They are strong stuff.

Disclaimer: I only own this empty bottle and I think I need a refill

For Yohko Bennington because she is awesome

**Crazier Than A Bag Full of Ferrets**

T'was the night after Sam arrived, and all through Bobby's house not a creature was stirring not even a…

"Dude." Dean blushed with eyes fever bright. "Seriously."

Dean squirmed under the covers as Sam looked up from his magazine. Sam looked over at him and repeated, "Nothing's there. Stop starring at the wall and _rest._"

Dean pointed a shaking hand towards the wall, and with other hand gripped the covers tightly. "Sam," he whined, "It's looking at me."

Sam reluctantly set down his magazine. Unlike Dean's choice of literature, it had some fascinating articles. It didn't concern breasts, Asians, and focused primarily on the beauty of scientific occurrences. Sometimes, when Sam was watching over his sibling he had to resort to drastic entertainment measures. Scientific America was his lifeboat in a sea of tedium. He got up and walked over to Dean's bed. Dean was still frozen pointing at the wall. Sam gently placed his hand on Dean's outstretched arm and pushed it back down. Dean turned his head slightly. Sam spoke before he could, "You really need to chill." He pushed gently on Dean's shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"But," Dean looked up at him as Sam pulled the covers over him, "If I sleep the clowns will eat me or …or… worse."

Sam eyed his brother as curiosity wavered and he almost asked what was worse than being eaten by clowns. This was almost past the point of blackmail and dangerously nearing sad. Sam crossed the room and sat down. He held his arms open and calmly said, "I'm right here. No one will get you."

"Check the closest?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam sighed and stood up. He walked over to the closet and opened it. There were five flannel shirts on the rack, and three spare hats that Bobby kept. It was decidedly clown free to Sam's eyes. To Dean's eyes, a clown was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up tight. The clown turned towards Dean and put a finger to his lips as he winked. He twisted his rubber nose and smiled playfully. "Our secret," the clown mouthed.

"See? Nothing." Sam said happily. "Everything's okay."

The clock spun backwards for two minutes before resuming its normal rotation at an achingly slow pace. "Riiiiiiight." Dean said slowly. He looked back at the wall. The midget clown waved again, but this time he didn't mention it to Sam.

Sam handed him his glass of water. "Dean." Sam snapped, forcing his brother to look over at him. "Drink this. I'm right here, I'm watching over you."

Dean reluctantly swallowed the water in one gulp and relaxed into the covers. He breathed in and out slowly. His eyelids grew heavier, and heavier until he could no longer resist the temptations—clowns be damned—and he started to fall asleep. "S'mmy," he mumbled, "Your not soooo baaad." With that he was safely unconscious.

Sam fell into the chair and picked up his magazine. Bobby pushed the door open slowly and looked in. "Hey," Sam whispered, "He just went to sleep."

"'Bout time." Bobby half-smiled. "He kept asking me for clown repellant."

Sam buried his head in his hands and groaned. Bobby patted his shoulder, "What happened anyway?"

Sam nearly laughed but stopped when he saw the serious look on Bobby's face. He gulped and looked from Dean back to Bobby back to Dean. "Well," he said nervously, "Dean'll kill me…"

Bobby gestured at him to stand up. "It'll be fine," Bobby said as they stepped into the hallway. "You were hunting a ghost, right?"

Sam leaned against the wall, keeping one eye on the door to where Dean slept. "Yeah, it _was _a ghost. You know, a simple salt and burn."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "So what went wrong?"

Sam frowned. "We went out to the cemetery…"

"Thrown against a tree?" Bobby interrupted.

Sam shook his head, and his hair haphazardly flew. "No, but Dean might have preferred that." He ran hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. "We dug up the grave, just fine…"

"He got burned?"

"No, no, thank god." Sam bit his lip. "It actually happened when we were walking out to the car."

"Was there more than one ghost?" Bobby leaned towards Sam.

Sam looked down at his feet. "Noooo…"

"Spit it out!"

"." Sam said quickly in one breath.

"What?"

"He slipped on the ice, Bobby." Sam said slowly. "Dropped the weapons duffle on himself and sprained his ankle."

Bobby jerked a thumb towards the bedroom and raised his eyebrow. "You expect me to believe yer brother is actin' crazier than a bag full of ferrets 'cause of a little sprained ankle?!"

"That's not why he's… well, out of it."

Bobby glared at Sam impatiently.

"Know how he never takes pain meds?" Bobby nodded slowly as Sam continued. "Well, he was hobbling and being really argumentative so I put something in his cheeseburger."

Bobby took his hat off and scratched his head. "You poisoned your brother…" he drawled.

"Yeah…." Sam blushed. "But it was for his own good! He's not in pain anymore!"

"He's just crazy."

"I kinda sorta gave him too much." Sam frowned. "Now I've just gotta let it work its way outta his system."

It was an accident, really. Sam had been at Stanford so long, he hadn't realized Dean had lost weight. Not that Dean had been anything less than lean and muscle. But now apparently he was weighed less than the weight that matched the dosage Sam remembered. How would Sam have known? He kept trying to rationalize what any other sane person would have done with a hobbling, limping, grouchy brother that was in a constant state of misery. Misery that, by the way, manifested itself in to two words: _Tease Sam. _What would any other rational person do? Drug the annoying prick, Sam rationalized some time yesterday when Dean had begun singing off-key loudly. Of course, the entire car ride with drugs in his system, Dean had still sung. Albeit, somewhat quieter and in a much slower tune—it was still annoying as hell.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Good thing you brought him here."

Sam nodded think of the strange car ride over. "Thanks again Bobby for putting up," Sam gestured towards the room. It was more drama than he had ever bargained would come with a sprained ankle.

Bobby nodded. "Not a problem. But next time--"

From the room their came a plaintive wail of—"SAM! The CLOWN! THE _CLOWN_!"

As Sam ran back to Dean, Bobby finished, "Just let him take the pills himself. Idjit."

Bobby headed back downstairs to get some Advil for Sam, and also a book for himself. It was clearly going to be a long night. "Stubborn Winchesters," he muttered as he walked down the stairs.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"They what?"

"They want," Dean repeated slowly as if Sam was a child, "To play checkers. I do not know how. Tell them to go away, Sam."

Sam ran his hand through Dean's hair. "Dean, I…" Sam hesitated for a moment, "I told them to play without us."

"Good." Dean said eying the clowns. They sneered at him and turned their backs in favor of their chessboard. Dean turned his head to look at Sam, and Sam dropped his hand from Dean's head. "Sam." Dean looked down. "I can't feel my leg."

"That's because you hurt it."

"But… but…" Dean froze for a moment as he tried to comprehend his reality. "How will I protect you?"

Sam couldn't help it, he laughed out loud. "Sometimes, you gotta let others watch out for you, too."

"Dad's gone…" Dean yawned. "Gotta find him."

"We will," Sam reassured, "But until then, we got each other."

Dean looked up at his brother and flashed a sloppy grin. "Yeah, that's true." He threw his arms around Sam and hugged him loosely. "Thanks bro."

"No prob--" Sam froze as he realized Dean's head was resting on his shoulder and Dean was sound asleep. Sam reached over and touched his nose. "Boop" he said softly as he stood up. Dean rolled off his should and fell into the bed, where he moved slightly to adjust himself before submerging into completely clown free dreams.

Sam sat down and picked up his magazine as he prepared to continue watching over Dean. He looked over at his sleeping brother and smiled softly.

"Yeah and I'm the one with the clown phobia," he grumbled as he opened up his magazine and wondered once more why big brothers were so stubborn. "Next time, just take your own medicine," Sam murmured, "and save us all the drama, Jerk."

Dean mumbled in his sleep. Few people would have heard. And fewer still would have understood the single syllable, "Bitch."

Sam turned the page, without looking up and smiled. Things were getting beter all ready.

**.:The End:.**


End file.
